


illumina

by veryqueenly



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: College! AU, F/M, Gen, I guess????, M/M, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, a little vague, fluff???, kind of???, this is me trying my hand @ abstract writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 07:58:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8615947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veryqueenly/pseuds/veryqueenly
Summary: In which the two of you try to figure out the meaning behind a certain word, and in which the two of you question the secrets of the universe.
[College! AU] [Shiro/Reader]





	

**illumina**

* * *

 

"What are we made of?" you ask, turning your head to stare at him. The two of you are in the middle of the park, lying on your backs in the grass, observing the bright night sky above your heads. It's a little past midnight, and the both of you have snuck away from the university campus and went over to the nearest park for a few hours of relaxation.

"Hm?" Shiro hums, seemingly in acknowledgment of your words, turning his head briefly to look at you before turning his attention back to the moonlit sky before him. There's a moment of comfortable silence between the two of you, and he appears to be turning your words over and over in his head, almost as though he's trying to understand them.

You, on the other hand, have remained silent and unspeaking, waiting for him to answer your question, waiting for him to say something. You continue to stare at him, watching as he furrows his eyebrows in concentration, seemingly deep in thought, as though he's trying to figure out the proper response to the question you'd asked.

A few moments of silence pass before he finally speaks, and when he does, the words spill out of his lips softly, quietly, as though they're a murmur.

"What are we made of...?" he echoes, repeating the question more to himself than to you. There's a moment's pause before he blows a puff of breath out of his mouth before speaking once more. "I don't know," he says, his attention still on the night sky before him. "Didn't they teach this to us in Science class?"

"They did," you say, allowing a giggle to escape your lips. "But that's not what I meant with my question. What I asked you about pertains to something deeper. The answer is more on the philosophical side of things instead of the scientific side. What are we made of? What do you think _you're_ made of?"

"Hm," he hums once more, seemingly thinking about the words you'd just uttered. "What am I made of...?" he murmurs, and there's a moment of silence settling between the two of you once more. He breaks it after a while, though he utters the words so softly that if you haven't been beside him, you wouldn't have heard him at all.

"Maybe..." he begins, pausing as he takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the rich earth around him. "Maybe I'm made of dreams and ambitions?" he continues, though with the way he sounds, it comes out more as a question, unsure and uncertain, than a statement.

"Mm-hm," you hum, nodding your head in acknowledgment of his answer. "That makes sense. I don't think I see you as someone who's driven by something other than dreams and ambitions."

He shrugs at your words, nonchalantly, as if he couldn't quite care less about what you think before looking at you at the corners of his eyes. "How about you?" he asks, uttering the words just a little louder than before. "What do you think you're made of?"

"Hm," you hum, crossing your arms behind your head as you turn your head to look at the sky before you. "Quite a hard question, if you ask me."

"How so?" he prompts, and you take a moment's pause, almost as if you're thinking on the words you're going to say.

"I'd like to think I'm made of a lot of things," you begin after a moment, pausing briefly to take a deep breath before continuing. "Not just two or three or four. I like to think that I'm driven by a lot of reasons, though I'd say it's mostly out of love."

There's another moment's pause coming from you. You take a deep breath before opening your mouth and saying, uttering the words in a murmur, "To summarize my answer, I'd say that I like to think I'm made of stardust and love."

"Love, huh?" he questions, and you could sense the hint of curiosity and wonder in his words, as though it’s something he’s never heard of, as though it’s something he’s never known of.

"Out of all the things you questioned, you chose to ask about love and not stardust?" you ask, allowing a soft laugh to escape your lips. "Is love really that non-existent to you?"

"Mm," he begins, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. "Not especially. It's just that the concept of it is a little foreign to me. I’ve heard of it, of course, and I have quite a grasp on what it’s like through books, films, and the like. But it’s still a little vague, a little too murky for me to truly understand.”

“Is it because you’ve never really experienced something like it?” you ask, turning your head to briefly look at him, curiosity etched upon your features.

“That may be it, I guess,” he replies, shrugging. “I could make up an excuse and say that I’m a little too busy to seek for love—romance, whatever you call it—but the truth is, I haven’t been really able to feel it. I haven’t been really swept off my feet. Everywhere I look it’s bland; everything is pallid and devoid of color. It’s been that way for me for years.”

“It’s the opposite for me, though,” you say, slowly sitting up from your place in the ground. Shiro watches you briefly, his eyes following your movements, his gaze soft, fond, curious.

“Why do you think that is?” he asks, his words a loud echo amidst the silence of your surroundings. You sigh, turning your head upward to watch the sky above you.

“I’m always in love, I guess,” you begin. “I’m always in love with books, with music, with friends, with strangers. But none of them ever seem to feel that way for me. Most of the time, I feel as though that love is unrequited, one-sided, moving only in a single direction—forward—without even knowing how to go back. Maybe it’s because I have too much love to give, but it gets kind of exhausting after a while. Sometimes I wish I could shut off my emotions, even for just a while.”

Shiro doesn’t say anything after that, simply watching the sky in silence. You figure it’s because there’s nothing left to say, figure it’s because there’s nothing left to ask. Words have already been said, questions have already been asked, and secrets have already spilled out from underneath your beings.

Everything has already been unearthed, and the only thing that is left is the sky above your heads, glinting and twinkling, seemingly blind toward everything that happens in its surroundings.

“What kind of secrets do you think the universe holds?” you ask after a moment, your voice as quiet as a whisper, a murmur.

“Maybe we’ll figure it out once we go there,” he replies, and even without looking at him, you could tell that he’s smiling.

“Maybe,” you say, nodding your head in agreement. You allow a small smile to make its way toward your lips as you continue to gaze at the sky before you, watching as the stars twinkle, watching as the moon continues to shine. _Maybe._

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is supposed to be fluff before turning into some existentialist, philosophical bullshit that seemed like i pulled it up in a matter of moments. i know it probably doesn't make a lot of sense, but i'd been inspired after i stayed up all night reading a book last night. (hint: it's a poetry)
> 
> this might get a continuation, or this might be a part of a series, something that will be set in the same universe, though i still couldn't be sure.
> 
> anyway, feel free to hit me up @ my voltron blog, which you can find [here](asking-voltron.tumblr.com) (asking-voltron.tumblr.com)! i hope you enjoy reading!


End file.
